


Throne of Cards

by OrsFri



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrsFri/pseuds/OrsFri
Summary: Ivan is Emperor of Clubs. Gilbert is Death and long dead. They are friends, of sorts.





	Throne of Cards

**Author's Note:**

> In which I succumb to pressure and threw out cardverse.
> 
> Empress Erzsébet (Liz) Héderváry, House of Edelstein-Héderváry - Hungary  
> Queen Elise Vogel, House of Zwingli - Liechtenstein  
> Prime Minister Basch Zwingli, House of Zwingli - Switzerland

Natalya sneezes.

"I told you to wear something thicker," Ivan accuses without heat. Natalya makes a face.

"I wasn't expecting the train to be delayed," she defenses, rubbing gloved fingers together and blowing at them. "You should have just sent a carriage. And Roderich."

"Edelstein," Ivan corrects, "and you know why he could not come today."

"He doesn't truly care that Liz is sick anyway. It's a political marriage between their houses."

" _Empress Héderváry,"_ Ivan reminds again. "Furthermore, I don't trust them."

"A court that doesn't trust each other makes for weak governance."

Ivan snorts. "Have you seen the Spades court?" he tells her. "Don't believe everything you've read; these writers are only philosophers and social scientists because they failed to be court advisers."

Natalya's reply is cut off by the tell-tale chugging of the train pulling into the station. Ivan shifts, straightening the lines of his coat and adjusting his peaked cap. His guards immediately move into action: the uniformed ones move closer, while those undercover eyes him sporadically from the edge of their eyes. The train stops with a final exhale of steam; there is a tense moment of suspense when the doors of the first-class cabin opens and out steps the Diamonds court.

"It is a pleasant surprise, that the _emperor_ himself arrives to receive you," says King Francis as he pauses right infront of Ivan. "Good day."

"Good day," replies Ivan, smiling too wide, "I do wish you a pleasant stay in the Clubs Empire."

* * *

"Taking a breather?" Gilbert says, from somewhere behind, just as Ivan empties his champagne off the edge of the balcony.

Ivan, miraculously, does not drop his flute. "I wasn't expecting you." He eyes accusingly Gilbert over his shoulders.

Gilbert snorts. "No one ever expects death, even the sick and the dying." He moves to stand beside Ivan, elbows resting on the railings. "It's always, _oh, I think I can make it through one more day, one more hour._ Nuh-uh." He wags his finger. "I have a schedule to keep, you know?"

"You have  _cronies_ working for you," Ivan points out, "those black shades."

"They're not always enough," Gilbert answers simply. He bows his head, staring down at the garden, where Ivan's puddle of poured champagne glitters in the moonlight. Some giggling girls and a few gentlemen skip into the garden, chattering at each other as they wander about, voice lowered in a futile attempt to remain subtle. Gilbert sighs, and Ivan stares, mesmerised by the faint wisp of breath that twirls in exaggerated curls and spirals, spreading through the air like the creeping claws of winter trees or old hags, before disappearing altogether.

"This is how I know you're not human," Ivan recalls. Gilbert hums inquisitively. "Your breath. Human's breath don't move like smoke."

Gilbert exhales again, and leans back to watch his own breath dissipates in the night chill. "It doesn't, does it?" Gilbert acknowledges. He waves a hand flippantly to fan away his breath. "But it doesn't matter; most people can't see me unless I let them."

"Most people means _excluding_ your brother?"

Gilbert purses his lips. "To name a few," he concedes, "although you are not one of them."

Ivan's smile feels more bitter than he intends it to be. "I'm not sure I should feel glad that I have Death constantly revealing itself to me."

Don't be superstitious," Gilbert dismisses. "I'm not contagious. Pestilence is, but pestilence does not have a form. If it does, though, I'll set it on Spades, just to knock them off their high-horse a bit."

"I thought you like the current court?"

"Yeah," Gilbert admits, "but they are still a bunch of shitheads in the end. Let them freak out a little; it'll do them good."

"You're horrible," Ivan informs.

Gilbert rolls his eyes. "It's called retribution," he retorts, "an eye for an eye and all, for all the bullshit they pull." He folds his arms. "It's why there is only Diamonds tonight, and not Hearts, isn't it? Spades rejected your invitation, and Hearts is still under their watch, so they didn't dare to attend."

"They have a healthy reason to be paranoid," Ivan reminds, "Spades, I mean."

"It's been sixty years," Gilbert bites out.

Ivan shakes his head. "What is sixty years to us?" Gilbert doesn't meet his eyes. "I may not remember what my previous incarnation did, but that doesn't mean I am not the same soul, with the same core. You know that fear, Gilbert. You were once one of us."

"Well, I am out of the game now, aren't I?" Gilbert snaps, and that is the exact moment the balcony doors swing open. Queen Elise pokes her head out.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she squeaks, before clearing her throat and tries again. "I, I thought I heard noises, so My Majesty told me to open the door."

"It's just me here." Ivan stretches out both hands just to make a point. "See?"

Francis pokes his head in right behind Queen Elise. "Ah, I was hoping for something more... scandalous." He sighs dramatically, a hand flapping to his chest. Ivan wonders if the day will come when Francis stops playing up his self-styled image of a nosy, melodramatic _gossip,_ especially when around people that Francis _knows_ has already long seen through his tricks. "Either way," he continues, "your... what's the term for his position? Oh bother, _Lord_ Edelstein is looking for you. It seems your Empress wants to retire to her room early tonight."

Ivan nods. "I'll rejoin you shortly." Francis shrugs with a single shoulder and slips back into the room, Queen Elise smiling politely as she shuts the doors. Ivan stares at his side. Where Gilbert has once been, there is nothing left, except a faint veil of ash, unnoticeable until Ivan rubs his fingers across the railings, where Gilbert has rested his elbows.

* * *

Once Erzsébet has turned in and the ball has ended, Ivan changes out of his costume and visits her.

Erzsébet is, surprisingly, not asleep, and instead arguing about the merits between a bastard sword versus a great sword with Natalya, Ivan's  _personal_ guard.

He stares pointedly at her; Natalya stares defiantly back.

"Where's Edelstein?" Ivan asks as he closes the door behind him. 

"Busy, I think. He says he has some accounts to go through," Erzsébet replies, leaning back against the pillows.

"And you? What did the doctor say?"

Natalya's face immediately falls, even though it softens as Erzsébet beams. "It's good news: he believes I'm pregnant."

"Congratulations." It _is_ good news; there has been concerned regarding the fate of the Héderváry house after their only heiress died after birthing Erzsébet. Members of the court, after all, dies _horribly_ young.

Nonetheless, Ivan wonders about Natalya. "How did Roderich react?"

"He's delighted," says Erzsébet, crushing his hopes. A quick glance at Natalya shows that her face is utterly and forcibly blank. "He's already planning baby names. He even wrote up a few letters to his family and friends."

"I supposed your marriage is less political than it could have been," Natalya comments acidly.

Erzsébet looks so blissful that the harshness of Natalya's tone flies over her head. "Yes." She closes her eyes and smiles. "We are so very happy."

Ivan glances away to give them privacy, only to catch sight of Gilbert lurking in the corner. He's about to panic when a blond head in a fluffy white hat pops out from behind Gilbert's waist, staring curiously at Erzsébet.

Gilbert mutters  _go,_ and the boy scurries across the room and climbs onto Erzsébet's bed. He pokes curiously at her abdomen, before settling his palm on it. 

"Peter's blessing the kid," Gilbert suddenly whispers behind him, and Ivan manages not to flinch. Peter presses a kiss on the back of his hand. "And the mother too." He scampers up and pecks the mother's cheeks. Then, in the split second of a blink, Peter vanishes.

"There," Gilbert says satisfactorily. "Now come on, give these girls some space. You know _she_ needs it."

Ivan doesn't need to ask which, because Erzsébet is practically  _blooming_ with joy while Natalya's heart breaks with every second passed. He slips out of the room, closing the door as soundlessly as possible.

"You know," says Gilbert, rather hesitantly, when Ivan finally turns to look at him. "There was _once_ when they ended up together."

Ivan tenses. "I thought normal people do not reincarnate?"

"No, but." Gilbert bites his lips. "Exceptions are sometimes made."

Anymore information than that, and Gilbert will be committing taboo; Ivan knows that, so Ivan doesn't push. Gilbert deflates visibly when Ivan changes the topic, "Then, what about that kid? Peter, you say?"

"He's Life. He's very... new. In all sense of the word." 

"New soul?" Ivan stares up at the ceilings, at the painted frescoes of personifications and symbols staring down at him. "I didn't know your kind still makes more of them."

"Makes you feel ancient, doesn't it?" Gilbert stares up at the frescoes too. "I remember when those are freshly painted."

"Was I there?"

"No," says Gilbert, "you just died. I was there for your funeral." He pauses. "Back then, you were already an old soul. You... you think you're new, but you're made up of the fragments of older souls."

"And now I am as old as they were," Ivan guesses.

"Yes," replies Gilbert, "I supposed you are."

* * *

To help Natalya get over her heartache, Ivan sends her off the following day to guard Queen Elise instead, as a distraction.

"I hadn't known you cared _that_ much," says Francis, with a curious arch of his eyebrow and a knowing lilt in his voice as Queen Elise requests Natalya to show her around the gardens, since Erzsébet is still recovering and simply not ready to perform her usual Queenly duties.

Ivan vaguely wonders how Francis seems to know everything. Then again, it _is_ Francis; it is as though Francis's self-imposed duty is to know everything at the right time. "She's my sister."

"She's only your sister for _this_ lifetime," Francis dismisses, eyes already wandering. "So it seems this multilateral invitation has become a bilateral one. Did you expect this?"

Truly, Ivan doesn't know what he has expected. "Maybe." He decides to be obtusely vague. "But that will change soon."

"Oh?" Francis looks straight at him this time, face-to-face. "Is this a warning I here? Ivan, this is why Spades is so wary of you - you drop lines like that."

There is a harshness underlying his tone that doesn't match the light-heartedness of Francis's words. "No, just a pleasant announcement," Ivan replies, as neutrally as he can. "You'll have to wait and see, until they are ready."

"Interesting." Francis begins walking towards the stables - to do some riding in the royal woods, probably. "I look forward to your good news then."

"Of course," Ivan agrees, "they are very good news, and unlike my previous incarnation, I only share good news."

"To outsiders anyway," Prime Minister Zwingli suddenly says, staring defiantly at them as they round the corner. Francis visibly jumps. "You shouldn't prod like that," - this directly to Francis.

"Ah, what did they say about dirty linens and the public?" Francis pouts back at PM Zwingli. PM Zwingli does not look impressed.

"If you are familiar enough to gossip _to_ me about the Emperor's embarrassing childhood stories, then that means the Emperor is familiar enough to not be counted as _the public,"_ PM Zwingli insists firmly. He nods politely at Ivan. "I apologise in behalf of my King, who doesn't know that fishing for information about a sovereign state's domestic affairs from the sovereign _himself_ is highly untactful."

"It's fine," Ivan replies, "as you said, I am _familiar."_

"Oh, Ivan." Francis wipes an imaginary tear from his face. "I _always_ knew you like me; you didn't tell Basch  _thank you._ "

"I feel like there is a story there," Ivan says.

"The entire court of Spades," answers PM Zwingli, "and Hearts. But most importantly, Lilies." "Lilies?"

"Queen Elise," PM Zwingli quickly corrects. "It is the people's nickname for her. They like her very much."

Ivan thinks about the sweetness of her smiles and the grace in her steps. "Of course they do," he acknowledges. "She's as perfect as a fairytale princess."

PM Zwingli beams. "She is." He glares at Francis. "Too bad she has to co-rule with _him_."

Francis gasps exaggeratedly, pretending to look hurt but only managing to look constipated, and Ivan finds his lips lifting into a poorly suppressed snicker when someone snorted.

Ivan turns around just as PM Zwingli startles and Francis tenses up; there is no one in sight, but if Ivan concentrates, if Ivan is _looking for it,_ he can smell the faint waft of smoke.

"Perhaps it is some small animals," Francis suggests unconvincingly. "Maybe we'll hear it again when we hunt."

Ivan glances around, wondering if Gilbert is still lingering, and what he is _thinking,_ with all the cycles of knowledge he has of every one of them. "I supposed so."

* * *

"Did you know," Gilbert says, sitting cross-legged on Ivan's bed when Ivan puts down his book on the dresser, "that you are always amicable towards Francis?"

"Oh?" Ivan turns off the lamp and pulls the covers back, swatting at Gilbert. Gilbert begrudgingly shifts to the edge. "Were we often friends?"

"No, but there are times when you greatly respect him, and there are times when you form grudging alliances," Gilbert elaborates, "and there are times you two go to war - those are literally _always_ exceptionally bloody - but it is never permanent; you two always make peace in the end."

Ivan is tired and wants nothing more than curl up and sleep, but when Gilbert wants to talk, there is no dissuading him. "Isn't that good?"

"No, it isn't, because then you go to war with _me."_ Gilbert makes a face. "Although there was this once when you decide to remain neutral and let me bash the heck out of Francis. That was great."

"Of course," Ivan hums drowsily.

Gilbert pauses and looks at him - truly, look at him, eyes glistening in the faint moonlight, studying Ivan's face as though he is trying to memorise Ivan's features, comparing the similarities and differences between _now_ and _then_ in his memory. His face softens and he leans in, a small smile on his face as he mutters, "It's been a long day, hasn't it?"

"Yeah." Ivan yawns. "Politicking followed by heavy sports _and then_ big dinners are a poor combination."

"You mean they are _great_ for helping you get an early, good night's sleep," Gilbert corrects teasingly, "but not so great for late night conversations." Ivan smiles sluggishly. Gilbert huffs a quiet chuckle. "I probably shouldn't keep you up with my melancholy, huh?"

Ivan slurs something intelligible in reply, eyes drooping with every second. Gilbert laughs, and bends forward so close that Ivan can feel the heat of Gilbert's breath against his skin. "Good night," Gilbert whispers, and leans in.

Gilbert's touch has always been like a feather's: light, barely there, a gentle stroke that he can only truly feel if he concentrates. But it is a _burning_ feather nonetheless, a feather lit on fire and leaving such a furious trace behind that Ivan's lips only feel the heat as an aftertaste.

And when Gilbert kisses him, for as long as he can, this is what it feels: a brush of the lips barely there, before the heat surges, warm and overwhelming until it becomes almost painful to continue. Then Gilbert pulls away with a final exhale that smells like ashes, and when Ivan opens his eyes, Gilbert is gone.

Ivan closes his eyes.


End file.
